


Part 1 - Current Monsters, Former Beasts: A.K.A. Our Best Fails Us

by wordbyrdaber



Category: Jessica Jones (TV), Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Kidnapping, Rating May Change, There is a kind of Non-Con here...it's Kilgrave
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-28
Updated: 2015-11-28
Packaged: 2018-05-03 19:53:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5304677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordbyrdaber/pseuds/wordbyrdaber
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The events of this story happen during the current season of OUaT after "The Bear & The Bow." In the Netflix Marvel-verse, this story deviates from canon after the episode "Sin Bin." </p><p>What would happen if, after Kilgrave left Wendy's apartment he took some time to heal up? And what would happen if, while hiding out, he encountered someone who told him an interesting story about a certain item that might solve all his power-related issues? What if Kilgrave took a trip because...there is a town in Maine...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Part 1 - Current Monsters, Former Beasts: A.K.A. Our Best Fails Us

**Author's Note:**

> None of the characters are mine. They're all the brilliant brain children of other more capable writers. However, I am frustrated with the Once team...so I decided to muck around a bit for a more satisfying and humanizing portrait of my favorite ship. There are some interesting correlations to play with, here. I am well aware the Kilgrave is a horrible monster. It isn't my intention to romanticize him. Rather, he is a terrifying foil to Rumple and the rest of the gang. 
> 
> I'm not sure how much time I'll have to work on this over the next couple of weeks. I'm at uni, and I've got projects as well as grading due!

Part 1 - Current Monsters, Former Beasts: A.K.A. Our Best Fails Us

The rain began clinging to Belle’s hair as soon as the door of Granny’s Diner had shut behind her. It was an unrelenting drizzle and spit that formed unpleasant layers of cold mist on her face. She clutched the two scalding coffees in to-go containers with her gloved hands, thankful for modern conveniences like coffee machines and thermal paper products that graced her life. Storybrooke, though usually gloomy during the fall and winter months, was outdoing itself this morning. Belle picked her feet up faster, and looked wearily both ways before crossing the road that separated the diner from her husband’s shop. As she closed in on the front door, it swung outwards, and Rumpelstiltskin heaved himself to the side in order to make way for her, smiling quietly as she entered. 

“Ah, you’re a Godsend, sweetheart.” 

“Well, it wasn’t just for you. You know as well as I do that I’ll have trouble doing anything unless I get some of this down soon,” she countered, brow raised playfully. 

It was another day of inventory at Gold’s Pawnbroker & Antiquities Dealer. The Yule season was nearing, and it was important to make sure everything was in order before citizens in the town started stopping by looking for gifts. The Golds knew that a certain diaspora would drive dwarves, fairies, and former villagers to their little corner of the world – looking…always looking for something at this time of year that could be given, or reclaimed from their former lives. And despite the oddity of having both Emma and Killian as Dark Ones terrorizing everyone from end to end of their town, there was still the business to run. Since Rumple’s darkness had left him, the former Dark One had spent his days trying to piece together a new existence…which also meant that both Belle and her formerly estranged husband were desperately attempting reconciliation.   
It was slow going. Slower and more painful than either of them had imagined it would be. They were living and working together – but sequestering themselves in separate bedrooms at night. It was necessary to not blur boundaries just yet. Eventually, they could share the life they’d had…but Belle hadn’t gotten over the months of betrayal. She was still afraid that there would be something…unexpected. Even though she knew her true love had a tabula rasa in terms of his heart, character…choices…she needed time to suss out what her heart had forgiven and what it hadn’t. 

“It’s no good to just jump back into things,” she’d told him, sitting at their dining room table on the evening after they’d faced Merida and Emma.   
“I don’t want to just…rush things, and not deal with…with…”  
“The mess I’ve made. Aye, I know,” Rumple lowered his head, and looked intently at her hand held gently in his. “You’re right, and I know it. We’ve got to fix what’s been broken, and not just our cup…which…again, so sorry…”  
He’d grimaced at the memory of breaking their delicate porcelain blue-and-white token to shards in an attempt to get away from the woman who was being controlled by the recently dark Emma Swan. 

“No,” she’d smiled.  
“That was necessary. And besides,” she scooted nearer, laying her head on his slumping shoulder. “Just because something is gone doesn’t mean it can’t be remembered…can’t be…a symbol of something good. We know. We’ll always know.”

Thinking of the conversation gave her warmth in her stomach that she knew the coffee she now sipped had nothing to do with. Rumple gratefully picked up his cup from where his wife had placed it on the glass display case, and took it into the back to load it up with a shot of good whiskey. Belle smiled to herself as the familiar thudding of his cane hit the floor softly behind her. Belle let this boozy-beginning-to-the-day habit slide – it was an endearing indulgence with no negative ramifications that she could recognize, and seemed to force her husband out of his morning gloom. Besides that, Rumple always claimed that the only thing that could take the bitterness out of Granny’s brew (which Belle scoffed at, remembering the snobbish attitude he’d held towards every edible offering but her tea back in the Dark Castle) was a bit of lovely single-malt, straight from his gold-plated flask. She removed her external layering, carefully hanging her burgundy red coat and matching plaid scarf onto the wooden coat tree near the wall before yelling playfully into the back room.

“You’re incorrigible, you lush!”  
“Shall I remind you of how quickly you can take out a bottle of red…Lacey?”   
He emerged again from the back, cup topper off and grinning from ear to ear. In response to her alter-ego, Belle stuck out her tongue in a mock-sneer, and then grinned back. 

This was good. It felt right to be needling and pestering each other again. It was never mean-spirited, and had always filled the awkward spaces between them before – when she’d been the help, and he’d been her boss, captor, and…whatever else. Perhaps it could work again. This was a step back onto the path they wanted to walk together.   
Soon, they were sorting through carefully labeled cards that were kept in various wooden boxes – most likely designed to hold recipes long ago. They’d already gotten through the clothing, dinnerware, and silver items. Today, they were moving on to household accessories and furniture.

“That Deco stool with the scroll-work…is that in the back?”   
“No, Regina purchased it for her guestroom. She’s fixing it up with some…new furnishings.”  
Rumple huffed at this. 

“I don’t know if the thief will appreciate good early 20th century furniture, but…it’s no matter.”   
“Well, it’s getting colder. She didn’t want Robin and Roland to stay in the forest. And with Henry staying there too…”

He waved his hand dismissively. Belle couldn’t honestly tell if he was annoyed with Regina’s relationship or not. He probably didn’t think about it much at all.   
Probably.   
Belle knew that he was concerned about his grandson, though. That was one person Rumple had been avoiding lately. He didn’t seem to know what to say to the lanky young man. She bit her lip, taking the old inventory card, and putting it into the pile they’d file in their purchasing records.   
They continued working through the morning, and at noon they took a break. 

“We need to eat,” Rumple said, matter-of-factly. By that, Belle knew he meant “you,” and smirked. She was tiny, but her appetite was voracious.   
“I’ll go this time. D’you want the special?”  
She shook her head.   
“I’ll take a burger.”

Rumpelstiltskin pressed his lips together and smiled, rising from his place behind the roll top desk reserved strictly for looking busy and important – or so Belle thought.   
“Two burgers, and an order of fries. We’ll eat in back.”  
“Sounds lovely.”

He smiled, grabbing his overcoat. Before he turned, Rumple gave her a long contented look. Then he walked through the door, and was gone. She sighed. He was trying so hard – they both were. It would be alright as long as they kept trying, surely. Furrowing her brow, Belle headed to the back room to find a crystal toothpick holder she’d been searching the shelves for. According to her husband, the object had come from the dining hall of Cinderella and Phillip’s castle. It had been separated from the set when a kitchen boy stole it in order to give it away as a gift to the cook’s assistant whom he’d fallen in love with. It was sad – what people felt they had to do in order to secure some sense of caring, some affection. 

From behind her, she heard the bell above the door jingle faintly. 

“That was fast,” she said, half to herself.   
When she rounded the corner into the salesroom, she stopped cold. A tall dark-haired man stood expectantly, looking towards her with a lopsided silly grin plastered across his sharp features. There was nothing terribly remarkable about him, so Belle mustered a startled smile. Must be one of the former dukes in Snow’s kingdom. Perhaps he’d even been in league with Regina? He seemed to have her flair for the dramatic – from tip to toe, he was dressed in purple, silver, and black. He even donned a pair of black and silver wingtips on his feet. It was a flattering suit – much like what Rumple preferred, but her husband wouldn’t be caught dead in a color like that…

“Hullo! How can I help you today?”   
She smiled brightly at him, genuinely glad for the diversion from her own thoughts. 

“Well, you’re a damn vision, aren’t you?”   
The man took in a large gulp of air, standing up a little straighter.   
“I certainly wouldn’t kick you out of bed. And that accent? Well…”

Cold unease crept into her stomach. A sour feeling took hold, though she didn’t know why. The purple-clothed person – man – elongated the last word as if the implication behind the simple syllable was sufficient. The weight of what he’d obviously wanted to say hung in the air between them, and he took the opportunity to rake his eyes over her. Belle took in a sharp breath, and decided she’d been fucked with enough for one afternoon. 

“Sir, if there’s nothing specific I can help you with, I was just getting ready for lunch…with my husband.”

She emphasized the last part of the sentence, hoping to squash any figures or plans her customer might be mentally calculating. To her dismay, the man’s grin got slightly bigger. 

“Oh, yes – there’s definitely something specific I need. And you’re going to find it for me.”

The feeling shot through her immediately. It was a pull that Belle mentally rejected, though she was never outwardly mean to customers. She knew without a doubt that, yes, she would find whatever her customer needed. There was nothing terribly compelling about the man. His accent was quipped and as sharp as his demeanor. It set her on edge.  
“I…well, yes. Of course. I’ll find it for you,” she responded.

The person in purple started across the room, emphasizing his movements and taking one large step at a time as he spoke. 

“I…am here from New York. Ever been? Oh, never mind. I have a problem that I need solving, and a certain…person of some renown in certain circles told me about a specific artifact that I might find. In this town. At this very shop.”

Instinctively, Belle backed away from him.   
“My, so high strung!” the man all but shouted, noticing her wary motions.   
“Don’t move an inch, you lovely little poppet…” 

Again, he clipped his words at the end with flair – he left them pointed and dangerous on purpose, and they lay underneath Belle’s skin. She realized that it was impossible to move her feet, and resigned to making her face stone. 

“I don’t know who you are, but I don’t want you here. Not with me. Not when I’m alone like this. If you tell me what you need, I’ll find it for you…but I want you to get out of here.” 

She managed to keep her voice steady, and the man – the irritating man who apparently wielded some kind of dark magic – was now standing not more than a foot away from her. He leaned in with that grin – a horrible grin that confused amusement with anger – and he clucked his tongue against clenched teeth, as if he were scolding a child. She’d seen this kind of behavior before, but she didn’t think she’d ever see it again.   
Not since Rumple’s release from the Darkness. 

“Not a good time to be sniping at the customers. Believe me when I say that you need to be very kind to me.”  
The last gap between them was mere inches, and again Belle composed her face.  
“I will gladly help – but I would have before you laid your dark enchantment on me.”

At this, the man stopped and his eyes widened. All of a sudden, he was laughing hysterically. The laughter lasted for more than a minute, and finally the man wiped the tears out of his eyes and turned his attention back to Belle…who still couldn’t move. In a way, the stone-like quality of her legs steadied her even though her insides had begun to shake in distress. 

“You remind me of her,” he said.   
“I mean…better dressed. Less of a bitch. Still…fearless. And good with the sarcasm. That’s…that’s lucky for you.”   
Belle checked herself mentally. What part of her last sentence had been at all funny? And who was “she?” Lord, he was mad. Not like Jackson, either. This person was just awful. And where the hell was Rumple? 

As if on cue, a gold-handled walking stick came down over the man’s head. He fell to the floor in a sprawl that sent his limbs skyward as Rumple raised his cane again, preparing for a second blow.   
“You don’t come into this fucking shop,” the older man shouted, “and threaten my wife! I don’t know who sent you, but it’s time for you to walk out that door before I shove this stick handle-side up into your arse!”  
“I take it this is the husband, then?” the man croaked from the floor, still grinning.   
“No, I don’t think you’ll be doing that – in fact,” the grin dropped like a wet sheet, and all that was left was fury that matched Rumple’s.   
“You’re going to eat that bloody thing now…handle first.”

Belle gasped, but her husband simply blinked in confusion…and then brought the cane over the man’s head once more. 

“Are you a goddamned idiot?” Rumpelstiltskin shouted.   
“As if threatening her wasn’t enough!”  
Something altered on the stranger’s face – something panicked and child-like. Suddenly, he looked up at Belle.   
“Get that cane away from him! Hit him over the head with it, and knock him the fuck out! Do it now!”

Against her will, and all at once, that was exactly what Belle did. Her husband’s body landed on the carpet with a dull “thud.”  
“Rumple!” she shouted, still holding the cane. There was a commotion outside the door, and the figure of Sheriff Nolan was running into the shop. The stranger grabbed Belle’s hand, and pulled her close, whispering orders in her ear.   
“You will get me out of here, and to my car. Then we’re going somewhere safe. Do you understand?”  
She didn’t even nod. The commands pushed everything else out of her mind, and, still holding the awful man’s hand, Belle led them both out the back door.  
“You just stand there!” her assailant shouted at David.   
“Don’t move. Not an inch!”  
“Belle!” 

David shouted her name desperately towards the back of her head as the man’s dark powers overtook the sheriff’s will.   
Belle exited through the back, and the terrible man suddenly took the lead – dragging her behind him down the alleyway and onto the next block where a black Civic sat next to the curb. A man Belle had seen during her day-to-day life in town sat in the driver’s seat. She didn’t know his name, though she’d heard Rumple say something under his breath before about miller’s sons and cats. 

“Get in the car. Sit in the back – next to me. Do not scream, do not cry. If I catch you sniveling, I’ll make you put your head through the window,” she was told.  
“I wasn’t going to. I’m braver than you think I am. And as soon as he wakes up, Rumple will come for me.”   
“If you want there to be anything left for him to find, you’ll be polite,” the man muttered, holding the car door open for her.   
“You won’t kill me,” she said, pausing for him to get into the other side of the Civic.   
“You need me.”  
“Do I?”  
The man smiled, genuinely amused.   
“Well, you better hope that you don’t outlive your usefulness, Miss…Jesus, I don’t know your name. What should I call you?”  
“My name’s Belle.”   
He laughed again.   
“Christ, how ridiculously appropriate. You’re a beauty, and I’m…well, I’m me.”  
“And who are you?”  
“Well,” he made a dismissive motion with one hand, then placed the other over the top of the car seat in a gesture that was nearly kind.   
“You…can call me Kilgrave.” 

 

 

David had heard the commotion in the shop as he was doing his early afternoon patrol route. It was possible that Killian was trying to attack the Golds again, and he’d hoped to intervene before things got too heated. Instead, there’d been that weird little guy dragging Bell out the back. And then he’d been given an order, and then…well, all he could do was stand over Gold’s limp body and fume. 

Quick as a shot, David called Snow from his cell.   
Snow had brought Regina and Robin to the shop, and they’d eventually been able to rouse Rumple who woke with a startled shout.  
“Belle! Where’s Belle?”  
“He…whoever he is…took her out the back. I couldn’t follow.” David replied, exasperated and looking towards the three newcomers in irritation.  
“I don’t know what happened – I can’t move. It’s like…I don’t even want to. I can’t…my legs won’t budge.”  
“Regina, what is it?” Snow looked towards the dark-haired woman who was on the floor trying to help Rumple off the floor. 

“Hell if I know,” she replied. “I can’t sense any kind of residual spell work.”  
“What, like…like?” Robin was looking down at her now, a little confused at her reply.  
“Usually, there’s a charge to the air after someone works magic,” she explained.   
“It’s like blowing a candle out, and being able to smell the smoke afterwards.”   
“We have to go after them – now!” Rumple rose to his feet with purpose, oblivious to the purpling bruise forming on his forehead.   
“You could have a concussion or worse…” Regina placed a hand on the older man’s shoulder.   
“We need to get you to Doctor Whale.”   
“No, you don’t understand,” Rumple shouted.   
“He…was controlling Belle. He told her to hit me!”  
“You sure she didn’t do that on her own?” Regina countered smartly. 

Snow shot her stepmother a disapproving glare.  
“No, he’s right,” David interjected. “I can’t move. He told me not to move. This person obviously controls people - somehow.”  
“Wait…” Rumple held out his hand, recalling the incident more clearly now.   
“I told him I’d shove my cane up his ass,”  
“Charming!” Regina crowed.  
“…and then he told me to eat it instead. And I thought he was crazy, because of course…why would I?”  
David leaned forward as far as he could toward Rumple, pointing at the older man.

“…and he realized that he couldn’t control you -which is why he had Belle hit you over the head, and then ran.”   
As if waiting for a break in the conversation, David’s cell rang out loudly. He wearily picked it up, and answered.  
“Is this Sherriff Nolan? Of….Storybrooke? Storybrooke, Maine?”  
The voice on the other end was female, husky, and tired.   
“Yeah, this is David Nolan. Who am I speaking with?”  
“My name’s Jessica Jones. You need to listen carefully to everything I’m about to say.”

 

 

He’d told her she could only tell him the truth. It was the first rule they’d established after they’d gone inside the small cabin. Belle had thought of it immediately. This was where everything covert seemed to happen. It was technically safe – for her. Rumple and the others would look for them here.   
Kilgrave had dismissed the driver shortly after they’d arrived. 

“Just…drive. And keep driving. In fact, just drive into the ocean once you’ve reached it.”

Belle gasped at that, but didn’t cry out. Better not to let him see her react at all. Her heart broke, but there was nothing that could be done for the poor miller’s son. Now she was sitting on one of the straight-backed chairs, watching her captor carefully as he rapidly fired questions at her. 

“You must be lying….but you can’t lie. Not to me.”  
“You wanted the truth, and I’m telling it.”  
“You’re insane, then. You actually believe you’re…you’re a fucking fairy tale princess?”  
“No, my father was but a mid-level lord. So, no, I’m not a princess.” 

He’d been leaning against the wall of the cabin across the room from her, but his face was an ugly twist of frustration. He’d cast the purple suit jacket off, and had rolled up the sleeves of his button-down as if he was ready to do an enormous amount of work. 

“I don’t know how you’re doing this – feeding me this shit – I don’t know why your husband didn’t…have to listen to me.”   
“Because you do not have as much power here as you think you do.”   
“Oh? We’ll see about that. Give yourself a good slap, darling. Hard.” 

Belle did as she was told, and her ears rang with the force of her hand against her own flesh. 

“Up till now, I’ve been very patient," he roared, fuming at her. "Next time, I’ll make you bite off your own tongue.”

Kilgrave crossed the floor of the cabin quickly until he was bending over Belle, staring into her face.   
“What do you want?” she asked again. His eyes glimmered as he reached into his pocket, retrieving a piece of worn parchment. He handed it to Belle, and as she unfolded the paper she involuntarily let out a small cry of dismay. 

A sketch of the Dark One’s dagger stood out on the dirty fibers of the parchment, glaring up at her through her mental fog and aching face.   
“You…what do you know about this?”  
“I’m about to know quite a lot. Tell me everything you know about the dagger, Belle. Tell me where I can find it. Tell me how to use it.”  
She swallowed hard, handing him back the drawing.   
“Kilgrave…you don’t understand. Having this would give you power…but it won’t last. The Dark Ones wield their combined daggers in this town. They won’t give you control over all they can do. You’ve walked into a war, and you must get out.”  
Belle’s face fell in grave concern.   
“Please, if you value your life, you…you must’nt do this.”

Kilgrave softened, and sat down on the floor of the cabin in front of where Belle was seated and tense, still holding the parchment in her trembling hand.   
“I don’t understand everything you’ve just said,” he admitted. “But you can’t start with a warning like that and then not tell me what it all means. C’mon, poppet. Out with it. And don’t look so sad! Give us a smile!”

Her lips turned upwards, and she smiled brilliantly as she launched into her story. Belle was aware that her tone – her words – didn’t match the expression on her face, but her audience didn’t seem to mind.

It all flooded out, then. A story about the Dark One – the one she’d met, and how she came to understand what the dagger did. It took over an hour to lay the intricate history at her captor’s feet, and when she was done – had told all the secrets – she felt absolutely bare. Kilgrave’s eyes were dancing and lit. He cocked a brow when she was done. She was still smiling.

“You…you stayed with him, then. Even though he was the Dark One. You married him. You’re making a go of it?”  
“He was not a bad man before the Darkness,” she countered, hoping he’d catch her meaning. Rumple’s heart had been good. Belle wasn’t certain Kilgrave had a heart at all.   
“He did his best to keep fighting it. Sometimes,” she sighed, her smile wavering as tears pricked her eyes at the memory of her love. “sometimes our best fails us. All of us. And anyway, he’s not the Dark One anymore.” 

She had to keep smiling then, though her face was tired and sore and all Belle wanted to do was sob. He’d told her to keep smiling and she must. 

“Jesus….just…..bloody Christ in hell,” he exclaimed under his breath.   
“My Jessie could learn a lot from you. Maybe you’ll come back with me and the dagger, hmm?”

Kilgrave slowly leaned himself on to Belle’s lap and told her to stroke his hair. She could not scream or cry out. Just smile. She wanted to yank a hand full of the repulsive product-covered stuff out with her fist, and run…but she had to sit, and smile, and be polite…Gods, it was exhausting. He smelled of blood, and expensive cologne and something else she couldn’t place. It made her stomach turn. It made her scared. 

“I guess it isn’t hard to believe,” he continued. Belle’s smile turned into a momentary smirk before snapping back into place as she realized that he liked to hear himself talk – just like most villains.   
“I mean, if Jessica and I can exists…then why not enchanted forests, and evil ones or dark ones or whatever?”  
“You can’t control them for long, you know,” she managed through her upwardly pursed lips. “Even if you have the dagger, they’ll trick you.”  
“Oh, I don’t plan on controlling anyone with the dagger,” he mused, shifting his head onto her knee.   
“I’m going to kill whoever’s name is on the bloody thing, and take all the power for myself.”  
Belle’s hand froze.   
He was a monster.   
A mad, lunatic monster in a purple suit.   
“Keep it up with the hair, Belle,” he said, noticing the pause.   
“Pretend I’m him.”


End file.
